Vindictive
by Kink Fluff Angst
Summary: Wait a second. That was no crazed axe-murderer… That was her consultant! Patrick Jane/Sofa


**A/N A big thanks to Damn Expensive Eggs for all the help! I don't own anything, except for maybe Jane/Sofa. T for language. Reviews, please? Thanks for reading!**

"_Lisbon_!"

There is nothing in the world that can describe the sound of what rang through CBI headquarters one Tuesday morning.

It may or may not have been the shouting of a name, but to some it was just pure, bursting anger.

"Where in the FUCK is my sofa- It was here before-LISBON! Where is she?- Lisbon, you better be hiding because I swear, when I find you, I will do unto you what no one-"

He grabbed several papers from Van Pelt's desk and tossed them into the air.

"Hey!" she cried.

"LISBON!" he roared. "Come on out, Lisbon! Face the consequences of disrupting my territory-"

"Jane!"

"-Good morning, Madeleine."

Madeleine Hightower surveyed the scene of what ever in the world was going on.

In the bullpen, Van Pelt was hunched over paper work, not daring to look up. Rigsby was lost behind his computer, and Cho seemed unmoved by the unfolding events.

Patrick Jane stood, eyes ablaze, two feet away from what should have been his leather sofa. Instead indents in the floor and dust bunnies were the only evidence the piece of furniture had ever existed.

Jane couldn't believe it. He had fallen asleep on the sofa not more than eight hours ago, only getting up due to much pestering by a cranky Lisbon.

"Jane, it's just a sofa."

"Au contraire, _Madeleine,_ it's _my_ sofa. MY. SOFA. She had no right to do ANYTHING to it. When I find her, I swear-"

"Jane-"

At that moment, Teresa Lisbon walked into the room. At first, she seemed a little displaced at the crazed murderer ambushing her boss.

Wait a second. That was no crazed axe-murder… That was her consultant!

"Jane!"

He immediately turned to her.

Patrick Jane was moor than angry.

He was furious, livid, fuming.

"Teresa Lisbon, you have four seconds to tell me where my sofa is before I become spontaneously violent. Four."

"?"

"Three."

"Jane-wait-"

"Two."

"Okay, okay! I got rid of it."

He froze.

"Why would you do such a thing, Lisbon? You know that sofa is the only place in the entire galaxy where I can sleep! It is my fortress of solitude!"

"It's just a sofa!"

"THAT'S WHERE YOU'RE WRONG, LISBON! It's _more _ than 'just a sofa'. In all my years, I should have made a few things clear. Number one, Red John is mine. Number two, there is no such things as psychics. Number three, under no circumstances is anyone allowed to touch my sofa, lest they are prepared to face the dire consequences."

"Jane-"

"What do you have to say for yourself? What could possibly justify this?"

"Jane. That sofa was hideous."

"YOU KNOW WHAT, TERESA? _YOU _ARE HIDEOUS. EVERY FIBER OF YOUR BEING IS SO REPULSIVE, I don't know how _any_one can stand you!" He was yelling so loudly at this point, everyone in the building had paused to listen. Jane was throwing up his arms, kicking the papers that littered the floor.

And, calmly, Lisbon answered.

"Thank you, Jane, I think I could say the same for you."

The air was ringing. No one dared to move.

Jane's face changed. He took a step toward Lisbon. Her hand flew to her hip, just incase this was the day when Patrick Jane finally cracked.

Instead he hissed, "If that sofa isn't back by tomorrow, Lisbon, you can guarantee neither will I."

With that, he turned on his heel and marched out, slamming the glass door behind him.

_What have I done, _Lisbon thought.

* * *

The next day, Jane wandered in early. He hadn't slept at all that night, still angry at Lisbon and worried sick for his sofa.

But his worries were lifted as the sight of his leather sofa was illuminated the the rays of early morning light shining through the half closed windows. Jane blissfully sunk into its familiar cushions, overcome by happiness. He felt something wedged between the armrest-a scrap of paper.

He read the message with a smirk, and closed his eyes as it fluttered to the ground.

_You fucking bastard. _


End file.
